Easter Morning, Three A.M.
by Minttown1
Summary: Donna's POV. A train of thought after Sam's and Josh's deaths at the hands of a member of the press corps.


DISCLAIMER: Don't own the _West Wing_, don't own any of the characters in this story.

  
There could potentially be spoilers in here for any episode airing through March 31, 2002, but I know there's not. How's that?

Donna's POV.

Enjoy.

~*~*~*~*~

Waking up at three a.m. on Sunday morning, Easter morning, in Leo McGarry's bed was not part of any plans I made. As a matter of fact, I was going to spend Saturday night finishing packing so that I could make tonight's plane back to Wisconsin. I am going home.

So, who to blame for this error in judgment, other than myself? Well, I could blame the Secret Service. I mean, someone had to let this guy in the door with the artillery he had on him. But no one was expecting the entire West Wing of the White House to be taken over by one member of the press corps with a problem.

I wish things had gone differently. For obvious reasons, but also because I want to know what he was thinking, why he did what he did.

I could blame that man. Makes even more sense than the Secret Service.

Or I could just blame the fresh scars on the back of my left hand, the ones that let me do anything. When the glass between Toby and Sam's office seemed to disappear, some of it actually landed in my skin. Of course, it didn't disappear. It was just the bullet shattering the window after going through Sam. "Just." The rest landed all over Toby's office, where I was when the whole nightmare started. Those few scars, the ones that CJ says she can barely see, they kind of embody this entire experience for me.

When I started packing, I threw away my black skirt. I wore it to two funerals last week, I never want to see it again.

Sam's death is bad enough. If for no other reason than witnessing it. It was horrible.

But it's Josh's that's killing me.  
  
That's why I'm going home. I don't want to see the world go on here whenever nothing in me is ever going to be okay again. I don't know if I could have kept my job anyway, or if the new Deputy Chief of Staff would bring his own assistant. I didn't ask, because I just want out of here. I have no idea what I'm doing once I get off that plane, Miss Donnatella Moss, sans education or skill of any kind.

I'm glad I was in Toby's office running an errand for Josh when it started. Because if I had to watch someone I love die, I'm glad it was Sam and not Josh.

I don't understand how someone can go through a rampage in one of the most secure buildings in the country. You'd think someone would have stopped him before the sixth person.  
  
Six people killed by this man. Unbelievable.

I spent yesterday, Saturday, cleaning the last bits of personal "stuff" out of Josh's office. I walked them down to Leo's office, because he told me that he would take care of making sure everything got to Josh's mother.

He told me to stay, that they would find a position for me. I think he offered me a job that doesn't exist at some point in the conversation. But I told him no.

Leo's phone just rang, and I answered without thinking. That's smart. I have no clothes on, I'm in Leo's bed, and I just answered his phone. But I don't hang up.

"Hello."  
  
"Hello? This is Toby Ziegler. Is Leo McGarry there?"  
  
"He's sleeping. Should I wake him?"  
  
"No. Who's this?"  
  
"Donna Moss."

"Oh." A pause. "Have you talked to Amy Gardner since the funeral?"  
  
"No. I didn't talk to her much before this happened. Why?"  
  
"I didn't talk to her either. But I found out that she had an abortion two days ago."  
  
"Josh's?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Think it's true?"  
  
"Yeah. None of my business though."

"Do you want to leave a message for Leo?"

"No. That was it, and I guess...Never mind. Good luck with everything, Donna."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Happy Easter."  
  
"Happy Passover."  
  
One of those moments of respect of diversity. Is it even still Passover? I really don't know enough about other subcultures. Meanwhile my mind reels with the news about Amy.

I'm one-hundred-percent pro-choice. What Amy did was Amy's decision. But somehow it still feels wrong to take the one piece of Josh left in this world away. Maybe that's lost objectivity.

It just now occurs to me that Toby was awake at three a.m. too. We're all doing really well right now, I guess.

I told myself I slept with Leo to keep him from drinking tonight, but I really did it because I felt like being with someone who didn't have the legal right to confiscate and read my diary. Though I'm sure if Leo wanted to he could. But he wouldn't. Actually, I had no reason to think Leo would drink. But that keeps me from feeling guilty.

I'm so exhausted. Not that I have any plans for tomorrow. Except packing. I guess all it takes is something like this to make you realize how few friends you have. Except for the other assistants, who I really don't know on a close basis, everyone else is actually Josh's friend. Not that I know them either.

My hand hurts. The skin's healed, more or less, but the doctor said that whatever's underneath will take longer to completely mend. Listening to the doctor was the last thing on my mind. I'm sure that "whatever" has a name. I can still use my left hand, it just hurts.

During the campaign, we stopped at the most quaint little place. There were bison penned in, and you could stand by the fence and take pictures. Which was interesting, but I enjoyed the gift shop more. Most of the gifts were handmade by Native Americans. And Josh bought me a small silver and turquoise ring. And I have that on now, because it's something I can keep close to me. I never really wore it after that summer, because I put it in my jewelry box and just didn't bother. Until now.

I had this idea in the back of my head when I first heard that Josh was shot that it couldn't be any worse than last time, that I'd take care of him again. I expected him to be in his office the next day. This voice in my head was screaming that there was no reason for Josh not to be in his office.

Josh is always in his office.

When I was in high school, someone in my class, my year, was in an accident and died over the summer. Even after attending his packed memorial service and discussing his life and death with friends and psychoanalyzing the entire situation for two-and-a-half months, I was still not prepared to not see him the next fall. It was the first day of school, where was he?

More or less the same situation, I guess.

Leo's arm reaches out and rubs my shoulder, and I wonder if he's even awake back there. I wonder if he's asleep and thinks I'm Jenny. I wonder if anyone ever wakes up next to the person they mean to.

I wonder what's going to happen to me now.

  
~*~*~*~*~

This story seemed so much better in my head while I was mentally writing it than it sounds now. I apologize.

  
Please leave a review, even a negative one. I just like to know how many people read my stuff, even if they don't like it.

Happy insert-the-current-holiday-of-your-choice-here. Bothers me when people limit this time of year to Easter. So much more going on that that.

~Amber, 3/31/02, 3:56 A.M.


End file.
